Lean On Me
by The Madhatter2
Summary: 10, 200 word drabbles of House and Cuddy during S3. Spoilers for S3 and future eps.


LEAN ON ME

By The Madhatter

Disclaimer: House belongs to David Shore, FOX, etc. No infringement intended, nor is there any profit made from this other than my own satisfaction.

Rating: PG

Pairing: House/Cuddy

Genre: Angst. Well, most of it is. There are lighter parts…

Spoilers: Anything that's aired for S3. There are some spoilers for future eps and some speculation.

A/N: I'm back with what will probably be my last fic before I go back to school. :( Anyway, here are ten, 200 word drabbles. I chose ten songs that reminded me of House and Cuddy's relationship, then I wrote a drabble for each song. I put them in the order the eps have aired. They kind of link… so hopefully it won't be too hard to follow along. But I also discovered as I was writing this that I'm not all that great at drabbles. This is my first time, and this is what came out of it. So, I hope this works you guys. If not, well… that's fine. You can tell me that, too. Concrit is always welcome. Enjoy--

**Hold Me** (Savage Garden)

He finds himself on her doorstep once again after several days. His third leg is in one hand and in the other is the fuzzy yellow towel she let him borrow when he appeared at her window dripping wet. It's a lame excuse to visit, but it's better than nothing.

The click of the lock snaps and the door swings open. She's clad in pajama bottoms and a tank top that looks amazing on her and he blinks at her casual attire.

"What—" She notices the cane in his right hand and clears her throat. "House…"

He's grateful that she doesn't say anything other than that. He didn't come here for pity. "This is yours." He weakly holds out the towel, almost like an apology.

He knows that she understands the underlying meaning—he's throwing the towel in. Pain's back, in full force.

He maneuvers his way to her couch and props his leg up on the coffee table. She hands him a steaming mug of tea and a pill. He doesn't question her and downs it. When relief floods through him, he leans back and buries his head in her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she whispers into his hair.

**Breakdown** (Daughtry)

She picks up another white stick in her bathroom, fearful of the answer that would crush whatever hope is left in her empty heart. Taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes and sighs harshly.

Negative.

Again. She tosses the pathetic test in the trash and gets up for a much needed cup of coffee. She's been trying to cut back on the coffee, thinking that maybe, just maybe this one time it would take—

This is the last time, she vows. If it's not meant to be, then…

She grips the steaming mug tightly and screws up her eyes, trying not to remember the hollow ache of what happened with the last test. The glorious rush of happiness with finding the answer she wanted, the way she floated on air and glowed with pride for those precious weeks…

She would not cry. Not now, not ever. She needs to pull herself together. Deans of Medicine don't cry over coffee in their kitchens over failed tests and over-wrought emotions. She has to suck it up, run her hospital with a smile plastered on her face and with more energy than she possesses.

A tear escapes and rolls down her face.

**On The Way Down Acoustic Version** (Ryan Cabrera)

He notices the tired slump of her shoulders, the red eyes either from crying or lack of sleep or both, and the look of utter loss in her eyes when she thinks no one is looking. Even her usually bouncy, lively hair seems flat and exhausted from holding up the weight of the world. She puts on a good face; no one else would know what troubles her under the surface.

But he has a suspicion.

He makes it down the elevator to her floor and enters the darkened clinic. It's late, but knowing her, she would still be in her office doing God-knows-what at this ungodly hour. He slips into her outer office, but she isn't at her usual desk. Cautiously, he opens the door to her inner sanctum and finds her curled up on the couch away from the window panels.

Crying. Well, the remnants of her tears stain her face as she peers up at him. Silently, he hands her a cup of water as an offer of strength. He has no idea what possesses him to do this, but it feels right as she places both hands over the cup, gripping his hand tightly.

"Thank you."

**How To Save A Life** (The Fray)

She leans her forehead against the front door of House's place, sighing heavily. She didn't get a single thing out of the entire argument except a door slammed in her face. You knew this would happen, so why bother coming? her mind taunts as her hand curls into a fist. Now, she'll have to sacrifice a little girl just to make him come around…

"Why won't you just take the deal?"

She feels the door shift as it carries his weight on the other side. "I can't. I won't."

Of course, her mind mocks. "Just get over your damn pride. It's your best bet."

"My pride is all I have left. I won't give it up for some idiot cop who can't get off his high horse."

She knows that it's only because of the pain that he's even having this conversation with her. "So you'd rather go to jail."

"I'm not taking the deal."

The door shifts again and she hears the thump of his cane as he moves away. He'll never admit to anything and he'll never apologize—for anything. She sighs and wonders if she's just sentenced him to another lifetime of agonizing pain and lingering loneliness.

**What's Left Of Me** (Nick Lachey)

He's been puking every hour for the last six hours. He's tried everything he could think of to try and hold back every time, but fails, so he stays planted in his bathroom, bent over the bowl. There is no dignity, no honor, no pride in the act and his jaw tightens at the miserable mess he's become. He blames Wilson for trying to change him, for making a deal with Tritter, for betraying him. He curses Cuddy for going along with Wilson's plan, for taking away his pills. He wishes for a slow and painful death to Tritter.

A new film of sweat breaks out on his forehead as he tries to hold back another wave of nausea. After a few deep breaths, he deems himself ready to stand up. Somehow, he makes it out the door, onto his bike and in front of her house. Slowly and painfully, he makes it up to her front door and manages to bang his cane against the heavy wood, not caring if the sound echoes eerily into the silent night. The door opens slowly and a tired, exhausted Cuddy stands in the doorway, taking in his despondent appearance.

"Make me whole."

**Somewhere In Between** (Lifehouse)

His eyes close as he hears the door click shut after Wilson leaves him in a puddle of his vomit. The rattling of the empty pill bottle taunts him as it rolls across the floor. The squeaking of Steve McQueen's wheel turning round and round sounds like nails on a chalkboard. He winces at the noise and drifts off.

He doesn't know how long it's been, but the sound of the door opening and the light tapping of footsteps near his head wake him. He finds himself staring into a penlight and blue eyes and he blinks. A flicker of fear, guilt and anger flitter across her eyes as he tries to focus his gaze on something else. Wordlessly, Cuddy helps him to his room, cleans up the vomit on his face and the floor, before handing him a glass of water.

"You idiot," she whispers harshly.

Why are you here? he wants to ask her, but he doesn't have the energy to talk. Instead, he snuggles deeper into the pillow and closes his eyes. He feels her tuck the blanket in around him, almost like when his mom used to when he was a child. He's safe with her.

**Beautiful Disaster** (Kelly Clarkson)

She needs to visit him in rehab. She needs to verify for herself just how well House is coping; the reports from Wilson aren't enough. She needs to see for herself.

She finds him in his room, lying back on the bed, fiddling with a paper origami creation he made when he was bored. He looks up, with red-rimmed eyes, a tired face, but there's a dim spark in his eyes when she walks in.

"It's a fortune teller," he informs her. "Pick a number."

The thought that he's gone insane crosses her mind, but pushes it away as she looks at the folded paper in amusement. "Six."

He moves the paper up and out six times before holding out the open mouth, telling her to pick another number. "Four." He does it again and tells her to pick one last number. "One."

She swears she sees a glimpse of familiar glee in his eyes as he opens the flap with relish. "Your fortune is… Get the hell out of here. I'm fine. I haven't killed anyone and I'm clean."

She rolls her eyes and leaves with a small smile on her face. He's damned and damaged, but he's healing.

**Break Myself** (Something Corporate)

"As our next witness, Your Honor, we call Doctor Lisa Cuddy to the stand."

She stands with grace and authority as she click-clacks her way up to the witness stand. After raising her right hand, swearing to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, she sits and answers every question succinctly and clearly—

Until she lies. Her response has Wilson's jaw dropping slightly and House's eyebrows going up, but she keeps her face neutral. When the interrogation is done, she calmly walks back to her seat, aware of House's blue gaze on her.

At recess, Wilson pulls her outside of the courthouse, glancing around quickly before demanding, "What the hell are you doing?"

She'd do anything to save him, if it meant saving dozens of lives later on. It wouldn't be the first time that she's risked more than her fair share to save House's ass, Wilson would know. She would break herself and bleed for him if it kept him away from the one place he feared the most--if it would keep him from additional pain by her hands. House is worth the effort, despite the consequences.

She shrugs. "Saving a life. That's what doctors do, right?"

**Because You Live **(Jesse McCartney)

Since he's been free, she notices subtle changes in his demeanor. He's still an arrogant, cocky, rude, misanthropic bastard, but he's slightly more cautious with clinic patients—he's checking their occupations. So far, he's been able to dodge a couple cops and security guards just in case. Somehow, he manages to disappear from the clinic when they walk in or he pages her to take care of the problem. For once, she doesn't mind as much because he's still doing clinic and he's still working at her hospital instead of rotting behind bars.

She rolls her eyes as her pager goes off and finds that it's House. She arranges a glare on her face before she swings the door open, prepared to yell—when she finds the room empty. A fortune teller is on the exam table, which she unfolds to find—

_Time for your rain check on the conjugal visit. 9pm. Your place._

She laughs and crumples up the paper. Nope, he hasn't changed a bit. Still demanding sex, still as elusive as ever.

"I'm serious."

She spins around, chucks the balled paper at his head and storms away.

"Is that a yes or no?" he yells after her.

**Feels Like Tonight** (Daughtry)

He lounges in one of the couches in her locked office, waiting for the queen to enter. Glancing at his watch, he grins when he hears the lock click at exactly seven.

"House," she sighs. "Why are you in my locked office—again?"

He shrugs. "I like your couches."

She glares at him as she strips off her coat and hangs it up. "What do you want? Other than _that_."

He frowns. "Well… I could settle for—"

"Whatever it is, the answer's no."

"Not even dinner? I know you're free tonight. Your last meeting ends at six."

"You hacked into my—" She shakes her head. "Why are you doing this?"

"Can't a guy do anything nice around here?" he grumbles. "It's just dinner, no funny stuff."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?"

How is it he can diagnose just about anything, but couldn't show his gratitude? He sighs. "Just think of it as a big shopping spree—on me."

"Just out of the blue? You want dinner?"

He limps over to her, avoiding her gaze. "I just want to…"

"Want to…?" she prompts.

"…Say thank you."

She tilts his head up to hers. "Then, yes. And you're welcome."


End file.
